


Pick Me Up

by unadulteratedstorycollector



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Draco Malfoy, Auror Harry Potter, Auror Partners, Crack, Gen, One long joke, a series of jokes about having no bones, actually, in your legs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-05
Updated: 2020-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-12 21:51:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23027971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unadulteratedstorycollector/pseuds/unadulteratedstorycollector
Summary: Draco loses the bones in his legs. Harry is unsympathetic
Comments: 25
Kudos: 165





	Pick Me Up

It happens as they’re chasing a neo-Death Eater across the rooftops of Diagon Alley. Draco jumps, his Auror robes flying behind him, lands on a loose tile, and slips. His hands grasp for the edge, he drops his wand and misses the tiles, thus landing on both his feet. The crunch makes Harry feel sick from where he’s standing on top of the roof, looking down at his partner. Draco, to his credit, only makes a soft groan. The neo-Death Eater gets away.

Harry sighs, climbing (carefully) down the building. He finds Draco dragging himself towards his wand, which has landed a few feet away.

“Let me help,” Harry says. Draco shoots him an angry scowl and continues to drag his limp, twisted legs along the cobblestones. Harry leans against the wall, and crosses his arms over his chest. Draco is ridiculous, but also very willing to punch Harry in whatever part of him is closest. Draco finally manages to get to his wand, and lies down on the ground. His hair makes an interesting halo around his head, and for a moment he looks like a fallen angel.

“Fuck!” he shouts, just when Harry had started to think maybe he’d died. Some angel.

“Do you want help?” Harry asks. 

Draco sits up, ignoring Harry completely this time. He points his wand at his legs, his hand wobbling horribly, and grits out “_Brackium Emendo_”. Except to Harry, it sounds more like ‘Brack Him Do’ and there’s a flash of light that definitely shouldn’t have happened. Harry has a sinking familiar feeling, and he looks at Draco’s floppy, boneless legs to confirm. Yup. Fucked that one right up.

“Now you have no bones,” Harry says, very helpfully.

“Fuck off,” Draco growls. He looks like he might be crying, which Harry can forgive because his bones have just been shattered and then vanished. Harry would be crying too. Before Harry can move, not that he was planning on doing so, Draco is dragging himself along the floor again. His wand is between his teeth, and he’s muttering something to himself.

He gets about a foot down the road when Harry starts to follow him.

“Do you need me to carry you?” he asks, sidestepping quickly before Draco can swing for his junk.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” Draco says around his wand. Harry holds up his hands before shoving them into his pockets. He strolls slowly down the road next to his partner, enjoying the spring evening, and pointedly ignoring the scrape and shuffle of Draco dragging his lifeless legs along the floor. It rained today. Lots of nice puddles along the street.

After ten minutes of walking excruciatingly slowly, Harry gets bored. He looks down to a sweaty, angry Draco and takes his own life into his hands. “How about I grab your arms and just drag you along the floor? It might be quicker.”

Draco removes the wand from his mouth and proceeds to swear colourfully at Harry until he runs out of breath. Harry fights not to smirk, but he can feel it tugging the corner of his lips. Draco shoves the wand back into his mouth and carries on, one arm in front of the other. Harry doesn’t follow him, just watches as he army-crawls his way into a puddle he clearly hadn’t seen. Draco’s head drops, the wand clattering to the floor.

“How about you find something for me to lie on, that you can then drag along the floor?” Draco says into the floor. Harry stifles his laugh, like a true hero, and looks around for a piece of cardboard or a discarded shopping trolley. He spots a large black plastic bin bag that he hopes is somewhat clean and takes it over to Draco.

“Your chariot, my lady,” he says, placing it next to Draco. Draco scowls at him, and sniffs indignantly.

“If you tell anybody about this, you’ll wake up without several important appendages. Is that clear?” Draco spits. Harry will, of course, be telling everybody about this. Harry nods, sagely, and Draco rolls onto the bag. He barely fits, and the saggy, boneless limbs flop around against the floor. Oh well. Can’t get much worse than this.

Harry pulls the bag, which slips from under Draco, tipping him over, and rips in half. Draco, angry legless Draco, sends a stinging hex at Harry, but misses. Probably due to the fact he’s now twisted around himself. Harry, against all good judgement, starts to laugh. He howls, leaning against a wall to keep himself upright. Draco rearranges his legs with some difficulty until he’s sat up looking like a very angry, very dirty, rag doll.

Once Harry has managed to regain control of himself, wiping his eyes and taking a deep breath, he turns to Draco. “Would you please just let me carry you?”

“I’m not a fucking princess, Potter. I can walk by myself!” Draco shouts. There’s a moment of pregnant silence as Harry stares at him with widening eyes, and Draco pouts on the ground. “I’m not being carried.”

“Well, have a nice night then,” Harry says and turns to walk down the road using his very functional legs. He gets three shops down, further than they’ve gone in the past fifteen minutes when he hears Draco shout.

“Fine!”

Harry turns around slowly. Draco has his arms crossed, and is looking up at the sky like he isn’t the person who just spoke. Harry doesn’t move.

“If you come here, I can climb on your back, and you can get us to the Apparition point.” Draco still doesn’t look at Harry.

“Like a piggyback?” Harry asks, enjoying this moment immensely. Draco Malfoy, asking Harry to carry him. And Harry thought today was going to be just another boring day at work.

“If you like,” Draco says, sniffing again. If Harry would 'like'. Like it’s Harry who is stuck on the ground like an abandoned, uncooked sausage. Actually, Draco’s too skinny for a sausage. An abandoned, uncooked chipolata.

Harry walks over, leaning back slightly to show off his boney, structured legs, before turning around and bending down. He’s just far enough away from Draco that Draco has to wriggle to get to him, which is very pleasing. Draco’s arms snake around Harry’s neck, holding on a little too tight, and Harry thinks for a moment how it’s lucky they’re the same height. If Draco was taller than Harry this would look ridiculous.

As Harry stands, Draco grunts, tightening his grip. His flopping legs smack against the floor, and he starts to slip from the weight of them. Harry instinctively moves his arms to create a seat for Draco to sit on behind his back. Draco shuffles into place, rubbing dirt and water on Harry’s back. It’s highly unpleasant. When Draco feels secure in place, Harry starts to trudge towards the Apparition point.

“Can’t you move any faster?” Draco grumbles into Harry’s ear.

“Want to swap places? You lie down on the floor and I’ll sit on your back like a chaise lounge?”

Draco doesn’t say anything, but Harry notices that Draco’s wand is now poking him in the cheek. Harry suspects that Draco would say ‘mush’ if he knew what huskies and mushing were.

They get to the Apparition point much quicker than if Draco had dragged himself there, and Harry contemplates just dropping Draco on the floor and going home. Or to Ron’s. Ron has a Pensieve. These are definitely memories Harry wants to save. Yes, it’s very tempting to just drop the sack of potatoes on his back and go to the warmth of Ron and Hermione’s flat. Instead, out of the goodness of his heart, he spins on the spot to take Draco to St Mungoes. And as he spins with a pop, there’s a faint slapping sound. Almost like two sacks of flour knocking together.


End file.
